"The first purpose of a garden is to be a place of quiet beauty such as will give delight to the eye and repose and refreshment to the mind."
Gertrude Jekyll, A Gardener's Testament.

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Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Twenty Love Poems XVIII and a Song of Despair

Here I love youIn the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant watersDays, all one kind, go chasing each other.The snow unfurls in dancing figures.A silver gull slips down from the west.Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.Oh the black cross of a ship.Alone.Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.Far away the sea sounds and resounds.This is a port.Here I love you.Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.I love you still among these cold things.Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vesselsthat cross the sea towards no arrival.I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.I love what I do not have. You are so far.My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.But night comes and starts to sing to me.The moon turns its clockwork dream.The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.And as I love you, the pines in the windwant to sing your name with their leaves of wire.